Based on the text The first days we don’t even remember (word document .doc, written on 11.06.2012 at 21:30, 204 words, 49 minutes working time as shown by data, proof reading on 07.07.2012 at 21:01. Title assigned automatically by word, method I use for all ‘diary’ texts)
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I am sending an old work, well an old text, the work is new. I have recently read Alex Shakar’s ‘ The Savage Girl’, which is set in a dystopian near future taken over by consumerist pop culture propaganda. There is a passage at the end of the book calling for a ‘return’ to humanity (a pre-… one), but even this plea is coming to surface through a terrorist act. Reading this book in tandem with news on the development of the pandemic, and experiencing its outcome as a migrant, reminded me of a short text I wrote back in 2012, when I first lived abroad, and had to come to terms with my new subjectivity. It is an atmospheric text, written out of the deeps, maybe so deep that there are actually outside of me. Water has changed its meaning within the recent years, and the pandemic has meant yet another layer of neglect for the refugee crisis. I have written from the position of a ‘subaltern’ ‘we’, which of course cannot exist (as Spivak herself recently stated), so maybe this can be a “critical-creative non-sites escaping the dominant narratives